


Shattered Constellations

by O_renishiii



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A/B/O Undertones, Alternate Universe - Ben Solo Doesn't Turn to the Dark Side, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Ben Solo Rejects The Force, But not A/B/O, Cannon Witches, Declarations Of Love, Does four Chapters count as slow burn?, Eventual Smut, F/M, Family Issues, Fluff and Angst, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Visions, I'm basically winging it, Innocent Rey, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Redemption, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Kylo is a Mercenary, Light Angst, Matriarchal society, Medium Burn, Naive Rey, Or not, Rey is a a Witch, Romance, Smuggler Ben Solo, The Force Awakens AU, Witches, criminal kylo, inspired by another work, kind of, snarky kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-06-21 14:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15559884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/O_renishiii/pseuds/O_renishiii
Summary: Rey is incapable of hiding her emotions. Her disquiet at his decisions,at his choices, isevident in the crease of her lovely brow. In the down-curve of her full lips. But it's her eyes that reveal her soul. All light and fire. Magic and beauty. So expressive. So devastatingly bright."I won't go back, Rey. Don't you see that? The Sith, the Jedi. The Rebellion, the First Order. It's all nothing! Governments at war. The archaic teachings of senile old men. It's useless. Just different renditions of the same history repeating itself, and I will not be a part of that. The past needs to die, Rey. Let it burn. It's the only way to be free.""Free to live in the ashes, you mean."***********Kylo,  a well-known mercenary and the runaway son of a smuggler and a princess, has dedicated his life to avoiding the turmoils of the galaxy; forgoing a legacy he never asked for and a power he couldn't control for a life of seclusion and crime. But, when he crash lands on the isolated planet Dathomir, rumored to be the home of Witches, Kylo will have to finally confront the past he left behind, the power he neglects and - in a recent development - the desert witch who holds the other half of his soul.





	1. A Bleeding Planet

 

 

 

 

> The  **Witches of Dathomir**  (also referred to as either  **Dathomirians**  or  **Dathomiri** ) were a group of Human Force-sensitives native to the planet Dathomir. They were also known as the  **Daughters of Allya**  in honor of the wayward Jedi Knight Allya, who was banished to the planet around 600 BBY, and who they regarded as their ancestress. By the time of the Galactic Empire, Allya's descendants had divided into female-dominated clans that were named after regional landmarks. Each clan had a unique set of rules regarding Force-usage, but all the clans held one rule above all others.....   _“Never concede to evil.”_
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> **_"But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me."_ **
> 
> **_― Madeline Miller._ **

 

The tales and existence of the Witches of Dathomir are stuff of legend. 

  
  


Kylo would know, he’s heard them plenty of times. The magic wielders from the ruby planet was a topic of discussion that came up often when he was a child; a time when Ben Solo still remained and the constant buzz of energy he’s since cut himself off from was something good… something to be proud of

 

Sometimes it came up in the form of giggled whispers from his classmates trying to scare him with superstition and ghost stories (the quiet, floppy haired boy whose silence was mistaken for meekness and whose name carried expectations too heavy for a child to bear was seen as easy prey back when he was growing up) Other times it emerged from the reminiscence of the generals and politicians his mother surrounded them by, who told of a time where the force was generous in who it touched and force-users were not considered myths. 

Time’s have since changed, the stories distant memories now of a past-life he perfers to forget,  but Kylo has never forgotten what he’s heard. He considers himself to be quite well-versed in the matter of the ancient witches (and all things the majority of the galaxy no longer believe in,  _thankfully_ ) which is why he is confident in his knowledge that the witches no longer exist. The time of magic and jedi and sith are - have been -  _dying_  and the Witches were one of the first to go. He  _knows_ this.

But, he's still uneasy as he (quite unsteadily) drops the piece of ship light freighter he stole from a junkyard in Tatooine from hyperspace, sets the throttle at maximum glide speed to preserve fuel and sets his course for the distant red light of the planet Dathomir past the stars and black that separate them.

Kylo blames his unease on the fact that for the first time in years, he can feel the feather light brush of the power he's spent almost a decade running away from at the edge of his consciousness, despite not even being anywhere near the planet's stratosphere. Already he can hear the seductive murmurs (wispy and vague but oh so  _tangible_ ) of his darkest desires realized, promises of a life beyond trading stolen goods and mercenary work… a life meant for someone of his legacy… his _lineage…_

No _. No._

The fuel stick Kylo didn't realize he was clutching onto with a white knuckled grip snaps, and the pain from the splintered edge digging into the side of his wrists lifts the heavy fog that had settled over him; leaving his head empty, his nerves raw and his body much too warm.

Fuck.  _Fuck_.

Out of all the kriffing rims to be stranded on, out of all the _planets_ to happen across…

Kylo wipes off the thick layer of dust on the cracked navigation screens, ignoring the way the glass cracks further under his heavy hand. No ships - Resistance, First Order, or bounty hunter - within a 100 mile galactic radius assuming this piece of shits scanners are accurate. If so,  Kylo might be able to make another jump. Maybe the shuttle can take it.

He can try to find somewhere else to land, another planet close enough he can get to before the ship fully falls apart.

It takes a second too long for his patience and the shrill whirring noise emitting from the system is quite distressing but, after a few seconds, a map of the rest of the mid rim planets appears on the screen.

Two hyper jumps. The closest human-friendly, inhabited planet (if it's inhabited that means there's a black market and if there's a black market Kylo gets paid) is two hyper jumps away.

Kylo considers it. It's not like he'd mind if the freighter arrived in multiple pieces…

Right on cue, the engine spurts and Kylo's elbow rams into the wall at his right, narrowly missing the repulsor coil deactivation switch.

" _Motherfu-"_

The lights shut off. A loud ding and a broken mechanical voice fill the brief silence that follows.

" _Fuel low, hyperdrive com - com - compromised. Energy preservation sequence activated. Course for_ _ **planetoid**_ _49 0'5 42.5" locked."_

"Right," Kylo grits, "thanks."

The gliders are still activated, the bleeding planet -  _Dathomir_  - draws nearer.

Kylo wrenches the throttle right off panel.

* * *

 

 Admittedly, Dathomir isn't as daunting up close as it is from out of orbit.

****

The majority of the planet is still shrouded in a haze of crimson (an effect that came from it's red sun no doubt) and, even though he's gotten quite skilled over the years at ignoring it, the siren call of the shadows is as alluring as ever which is worrying - but there are light pinkish continents sparsely scattered throughout the red, a deep purple ocean stretching across the planet , a patch of orange and yellow isolated desert to the east and swaths of swirling grey lingering over the areas he senses the light is strongest. It paints a scenic picture, quite aesthetically pleasing.

****

If Kylo was the type to appreciate such beauty he'd say it might be the most beautiful landscape he's ever seen.

****

Of course, he's not the type to think such a thing and he doesn't have time to take in anything else that might change his mind because he sends the freighter shrieking down into the atmosphere at an angle and speed a lesser pilot wouldn't be able to maintain as soon as he breaks through the stratosphere. Kylo aims the nose as low as possible in the transition between air and space, wincing at the high whine of the engine from the abuse, and completely forgoes all of the usual landing procedures. There's no time.

****

If the shuttles dangerous wobble, blaring alarm and shaky controls are taken into account, Kylo suspects he has about eight standard minutes to get this craft as close to the ground as possible before it drops from the sky. And, Kylo can't afford a too shit landing... he has 500,000 credits worth of category X stolen goods in the co-pilot seat.

****

He'll die after he gets paid.

****

Inside the actual atmosphere, the colors are a bit more varied, with green trees intermixed in the red forest canopy. Kylo notices that the sea is more of a  deep indigo blue rather than purple.

****

**_"_** **_Multiple lifefo--rms detected on sur---face.”_ **

**_  
  
_ **

The broken voice of the waning ship interrupted his thoughts, strenghtening the throb in his temples from the blaring alarm. It sounded a few octaves deeper, slower but still robotically nonchalant. As if they aren’t  screaming from the sky to unrelenting Earth, as if the hull isn’t in a fiery blaze of orange from Kylo’s unconventional entry angle. 

**_  
  
_ **

“Shit,” Kylo curses,  straining against the G-Force the generator can’t compensate for as he swoops the ship out of it’s dive, skimming the tops of several trees that gave way to pale rocky cliffs, and directs the plane toward the grainy shape of the dust bowls in the near distance - where there is no buzz of energy, no invisible pull, no divine light.

**_  
  
_ **

Deserts lack water. No water means no creatures. No creatures means no life. No life means no force. 

**_  
  
_ **

**_“Fuel level critical, cra--sh imm --imminent.”_ **

**_  
  
_ **

_ “ _ Dammit. Dammit, _ Dammit.” _

**_  
  
_ **

The freighter shoots over the forest line and into the cliffs range, the silver of the shuttle blending in with the smears of red and gold already reflected on the white ridges in the ships rocky descent. The translucent earth mirrors the striking scarlett of the sun so fiercely, it blinds him. Drowns him in blood. 

**_  
  
_ **

Kylo doesn’t have time to panic though, at least no more  than he already is panicking, because just as soon as it comes, it passes. The sinking spacecraft crosses the rocky threshold and the red clears; just enough for him to notice the expanse of unforgiving Earth through the thick wafts of sand in the air. 

**_  
  
_ **

He also notices that his spacecraft just so happens to be angled nose down again. 

**_  
  
_ **

_ “Fuc- _ ”

**_  
  
_ **

**_“Pre-- pre--pare for Impa--”_ **

****

* * *

 

 

Miles away a garb covered figure watches in horror as a space ship  _\- an Offworlder? In Dathomir?_ \- comes careening down from the desert sky, the grisly sound of its failing engine rumbling out to the far corners of the land.

"Oh no.  _Oh, no."_

Suddenly she's sprinting, as if she could catch up, as if she could make a difference.

" _Slow down! Slow down!"_  she screeches, but the blast of metal meeting earth, drowns out her cries. Rey stutters in her stride and almost stumbles to the floor from it's impact.

Then, a  blinding flash, like sheet-lightning, and a significant ball of varicolored fire belched upward, leaving a series of smoke-rings to float more slowly after it and a vortex of sand hovers in the air; wispy yet, dense.

It's an imagine that haunts Rey of the Bright Sun clan. The ruins she sees from her place miles out matches the wreckage she's been seeing in her dreams for weeks.

Always the same; a crash, a shadowy figure, a strong face. A baritone voice, deep, smooth yet grating, like rusted steel. A feeling of home.

Now she's experiencing it as she's awake, as a reality. 

She's been traveling listlessly through the badlands for since, waiting. Hoping she could help in some capacity; but it all happened so fast. She was useless. Helpless.

She was supposed to stop it.

Rey chokes on a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding and the scorch of the dry air sears her throat.

The pain centers her, yanks her out of her shock, so she takes another one, and another. Lets her lungs to burn.

_Breathe. Breath. Balance._

She reaches out then with the Force (keeping her reach short and in the deserts confines), and searches with her sixth sense for something, anything to let her know he -she knows it's a he - is alive. The desert is desolate as always, lifeless, especially in these parts so far from Bright Sun territory. For a moment, she feels nothing but the soft pulse of vitality from the few desert plants within the area and her own mounting dread, but out of nowhere, the faintest beat brushes the edge of her gift, too fast and to soft, like the delicate thrum of a hummingbird's wing.

A life. A heartbeat.

It almost feels familiar to Rey, as if she's already encountered this heart before.

As if she belongs with it.

The ancient voice of the Moon Sister blends in with the parched, morning breeze, a whisper of a memory from a reading long ago.

" _You wait, child. You are strong with the Force. Strong with our Mother, she who creates life, and she tells you to wait. This is good, young one. Very good that you hear her, that you listen. But, your imagination gets the best of you. Our Mother tells you through the force to wait, yes, but she has not told you for what… "_

_Silvery eyes sharpen, the aged face of the Blessed One pinches critically. Rey is confused._

" _... Or whom. This is not knowledge that you have been gifted with yet. Do not make the mistake of pretending you know, Rey. The Mother will reveal this to you with time. Patience."_

" _But, I do know," argues a young Rey; bold, persistent, firm. "My parents. They're coming back for me."_

" _Patience, Rey. The time will come where your path, your purpose, will be revealed and all these feelings will make sense. But, for now, train.Meditate, learn your spells, the time will come when the Force wills it."_

The time is now, she can _feel_ it. The dreams, the face, the hazy visions during meditation of planets beyond this one, of a life away from the clan…

They've come for her.

So, with hope rooted in her heart, the relentless heat licking at her sunburned face and, a strange emotion - what she believes to be a sense of homecoming - setting her soul to flight, she sprints off in the direction of the crash.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

                    
                                                                                                                     

  
  
  


* * *

**_"First comes the day_ **

**_Then comes the night._ **

**_After the Darkness_ **

**_Shines the light._ **

**_The difference, they say,_ **

**_Is only made right_ **

**_By the resolving grey._ **

**_Through refined Jedi sight."_ **

**_\- Journal of the Whills 7:477_ **

* * *

 

Rey shades her eyes and peers away across the broken waste of the desert.

 

The ground is smoldering, sending up a disorientating haze around the wreckage, the harsh rays of the desert sun kiss the scorching sea of sand, and this overgrown heap of a man wrapped up in the tarpe of a parachute a few meters in front of her is decidedly _not_ her parents.  

 

Despite Rey’s curiosity (and worry) the revelation stings.

 

It is a hollow prick though, a hurt lessened by years of acclimating to such a sensation. She tries not to think about it, prefers to shield herself from frightening truths and their consequences; a task that is uncharacteristically easy at this moment as a subtle awareness jabs at the corner of her mind, catching her attention.

 

The pilot is alive, wounded but alive, and the force moves with him. Rey can feel it.

 

_A blessed one._

 

Rey bounds forward with practiced movements, giving into her fervor and springs past hunks of metal scattered around. Jumps over murky patches of oil in the sand.

 

Not only is this a man, a _free_ man, in Dathomir which is a rarity in and of its self. But he is force-sensitive. A gift Rey had been told all her life is growing extinct. A dying breed.

 

 _This,_ this is what the force has been trying to tell her in her dreams.

 

Once, Rey is only but a foot away from the pile of crumbled limbs she falters with nerves (how does one talk to a man? What are they like?) then begins to inch closer with careful footsteps; crouched and staff drawn. She has never been to close to a member of the opposite gender; not without them being shackled or bound.

 

Dathomir is a planet where, for the majority, the word _man_ is synonymous with _slave_. Most men, no matter the race, are unwelcome on the planet. Hunted, captured, traded and taken as property. More often than not forced to share a life with their Mistresses, share children. Constrained to a life of grunt work and physical labor.

 

It is lucky this man landed in the unclaimed Badlands and so close to Bright Sun Clan territory.The Bright Sun do not take slaves. They do not participate in local thrall trade, or get involved in wars over the few versatile men who remain on the planet.

 

Bright Sun accept are friends to all who are honorable and good, home to any with a compassionate heart, and believers of freedom. Daughters of the light.

 

Of course, any possible men to accept are scarce as other clans - the clans who send out scouts and huntresses and specifically wait for the arrival of prospective thrall - usually get to them first.

 

Dread trickles down Rey, mixing in with the sweat already sliding down her skin. There’s no way other clans missed a space ship falling apart in the middle of the sky, or the resounding crash that ensued. Rey herself watched as the ship flew past at least four other territories - The Blue Coral and Scissorfists clan territories, the Hollowing Craig clan, and, the most gruesome of them all, the Great Canyon Clan.   

 

Three out of the four will no doubt be sending huntresses to investigate who was in the ship. Two out of those three are home to Nightsisters - force sensitives who ally themselves with the dark.

 

Rey shutters to think of what they’d do to this pilot.   

 

With a new sense of urgency - she needs to get him out of no mans land and to Bright Sun territory now - Rey leans forward and moves the parachute from his body; glancing the face of the man under it for the first time.

 

It is the smell that hits her first. 

 

A heady musk of smoke and leather tinged with something sweet and sharp that taste like spices in Rey's palate. The sweet, savory aroma wafted through the arid desert air, and her stomach clenched with a hunger unknown to her.  It was a scent like nothing Rey's ever experienced before; so addicting and warm and mouthwatering.  More potent then the smell of sister Okeye's  fluffy bun honey rolls that dripped with amber-colored liquid. More soothing then the earthy smell of cool rain or the salty tang of the ocean that Rey experienced the one time she visited the Blue Coral Clan and fell in love with the ocean. It smelled like home, instead better; much more exotic. A masculine scent intermingling with the outlandish aroma of charcoal flames and cinnamon.

 

Rey doesn't know how long she sits there basking in the smell, but eventually the fog lifts enough for her to think and she lazily blinks past the heaviness of her eyelids.

That's when she see's his face.

 

His face is broad and defined, brutally cut in half by a deep gnarly scar running through the right side of it. His features are strong and sharp, high cheekbones, dark brows and cutting jaw molded from granite, and framed by thick, tousled raven locks. But there is something soft in his features too; freckles, like tiny constellations that match her own, dusted throughout his face and plump full lips just slightly parted. Inviting almost.

_Mesmerizing._

  
Rey blushes and brings back her staff, allowing the parachute to cover his face again. A cocktail of embarrassment and white-hot shame shoot up her spine. She is a Witch, for Mother’s sake. A scavenger of the great Bright Sun Clan, a warrior, a wielder of magic and one blessed by the Mother herself - chosen by the force as a vessel. She is _powerful,_ not a blushing little girl and she will act as such.

 

Rey reins in her childish giddiness, curiosity and the strange ache that has settled in the cleft of her thighs, pushes the tarp away from his face a second time and focuses a critical eye on the wounds that litter his person. The mans breathing is shallow, every puff of air rattling in his lungs and coming out out with a wheeze. There's an open cut on his leg, tears on his clothes and purple welts on any sliver of exposed skin he has. It's nothing life threatening, but if the wrinkles on the corner of his eyes and the ghostly throb of discomfort radiating from him in the force, he is in pain.

 

Rey doesn't even recognize her own intent to heal him until after the wrappings of her hands and the shawl wrapped around her torso are undone, and her arm is shooting forward to rest her palms on his feverish forehead. It's instinctual, a decision made without thought. She has never been one to allow others to suffer, not when she can help.

They Kyber crystal at the base of her neck grows warm with the force, the invisible fingers stretching toward the man on the sand. Waves of the force rippled around her, through her; Rey allows it, lets her eyes flutter, her head fall back, and lets the current of something greater than herself do their bidding. Her fingertips tingle with electricity. A subtle rushing in her ears drowns out the distant sound of moving sand while her mind seeps through skin, slivers through pores; reaching for shattered bones and tears of flesh. Her breathing grows heavier,her face crunches in concentration.The pounding of two hearts beat in the cavity of her chest. The phantom pain of wounds that are not her own spread throughout her body, _aching_.

Rey is almost overcome, on the delicate edge of being overwhelmed but she holds steady. Balance. _Balance._   

It takes a few more minuted until the connection between Rey, this unknown stranger and the force is stable enough for the healing spell to finally spill through her lips, rasping and ancient, in a voice that is almost hers;

 _"_ S _ana."_

A burst of white, a blaze of heat, the crack of bones, a shift, and a breath of relief. Then, the dust settles but, the connection remains, his mind stays wide open to her. Sluggish and unprotected in his unconscious state.

She knows it's wrong. Knows it is against the way of the Bright Sun to invade the privacy of others, to abuse such magic... but Rey can't help herself. She leans forward again, allows the tendrils of her mind to drift forward and float over the surface of his mind, allowing herself just a glimpse of the person underneath. She finds the hints of a brewing storm, howling and chaotic, lurking underneath. A disarray of rage and indifference,  sadness and fear, apathy, sensitivity. Strength and Vulnerability. Contradictions among contradictions mixed with the heat of an inferno, the coolness of the shadows that lurk in it's wake. The same shadows that bleed through her vision now, leaving inky spots of black.

Rey gasps and finds herself delving deeper, pulled in by the turbulence. She twists and turns with it the gale, crackles with the flames that dance and flicker in the back of her eyelids in the wicked golds and fiery reds of her planet. Her body both warms and chills, the metallic taste of blood lingers at the back of her tongue and lead has settled in a hidden place beneath her ribs, weighty and intolerable. It feels like regret. Sadness and fear. Apathy and sensitivity. Strength and Vulnerability. Contradictions among contradictions. Loneliness, so much loneliness, and an imbalance so heavy she heaves with it.

Then, a thunderous voice, rumbling with the tempest Rey has submerged herself in, booms in her mind. A command unleashed, deep and reverberating, before she is ripped from the screeching abyss:

 

_"Get out of my head."_

 

Suddenly, Rey is on her back and the silhouette of a  giant is leaning over her; the blazing sun over his shoulder binds her and obscures him from view. She can feel the foreign touch of an intruder in her head, callously sifting through whatever memories lay at the surface. Instinctively, Rey throws a palm out and _pushes_ with the force and it’s the giants turn to be tumble back, allowing Rey time to scramble to her feet, staff at the ready. She looms over his sprawled figure now. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what Rey assumes to be one of those _blaster_ things the older, more traveled sisters speak of. Rey isn’t sure how they work but she has heard they can be painful weapons.

 

“Stop, stop! Don’t use that, I won’t hurt you.”

 

Looking down at him like this, with him awake, is different then it was just moments ago. Consciousnesses ages him. The softness in his face is replaced with hard lines and sharp edges, his eyes are a deep obsidian color, darker than Rey’s ever seen. Waves of heat coming up from the ground makes her vision blurry, obscuring his expression and she’s sure hers as well, but even in the muggy heat his gaze is focused. Precise. The blacks of his eyes pin her as he looks up at her, fiery and calculating. It throws her so off guard she  almost doesn’t catch it when he speaks. Almost misses that delicious rumble of his baritone.

 

“You’re a witch.”

 

It is not a question.

 

“You’re a man.” Rey can’t help crouching down, leaning over to get a better glimpse of his face. He has hair on there: thin over his lips and thick on his chin. So pecuilar.“Do you all look like this?”

 

_“What?’_

 

Rey blinks, lips tightening in distaste at his tone, “It was just a question,” she snaps, annoyance replacing the awe, “no need to be rude.”

 

The man splutters, pushing himself up from his  sprawled position on the floor keeping the metal thing in his hand pointed at the area between her brows as he does so. Rey lifts from her knees aswell, wondering how that little piece of junk can inflict as much damage as the Sisters say they can.

 

“Are you seriou-” he cuts himself off with a growl, “Where am I?”

 

“You’re on Dathomir -”

 

“Yes, I _know_ tha-”

 

“In the Badlands between Bright Sun and Red Canyon Clan Territory,” Rey finishes irritably. _Mother_ , do men not have manners? “ Your lucky you landed here.”

 

His face twists, expression hardening into something bitter and spiteful. It is not a good look. “Yeah, luck ,” he scoffs.

 

Rey rolls her eyes through her scowl, “Are you always so unpleasant? You could _thank me_ for saving you, you know.”

 

“You broke into my _mind_ ,” he snarled.

 

Rey flushes hotly, partly in shame, mostly in indignation. “I _healed_ you.”

 

The obsidian of his eyes flash and the Offworlder begins to take a step forward, shoulders hunched in anger, when an awareness, a subtle shift in the force, snaps both of them to attention.

 

Rey’s spine tingles and the hairs at the back of her neck stand to attention while the force is abused - manhandled and rummaged through by a heavy, shadowy  presence. A presence filled with intent and a sort of dark glee that left the taste of acid in the back of Reys throat.

 

“Who is that?” His words are low and breathless, his eyes trained on a shadow that lurks in the horizon; a rumbling, swirling patch of dark that creeps forward, unaffected by the brightness of its surroundings.  

 

“Nightsisters,” Rey gasps. She thought they had more _time._ “Run.”

 

“Wha-”

 

“Run,” she whispers again adrenaline already making her blood zing and feet bounce. Yet, the man next to her doesn’t even move. His boots remain dug into the sand; jaw twitching furiously, weapon face down and hanging loosely between slack fingers as he stares at the incoming cloud.

 

He looks transfixed. He looks _trapped_.

 

If Rey were less alarmed (and hadn’t already felt his conflict in his mind earlier) she’d be more concerned with the darkness that wells up in him, begging to call back to it’s kin, to join it.

 

Rey launches herself toward the towering man, slipping her smaller hand into his and pivots on her feet. She ignores the jolt that runs up her arms as their covered hands touch and _pulls_ , breaking him out of his reverie. _“Run!”_

 

Rey doesn’t remember until the Offworlder finally comes to term with what’s happening, loses the lead foot, and starts sprinting at full speed - his large gait overcoming hers to the point where now he’s the one dragging _her_ \- that she hates being touched.

 

She holds on anyway.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from another fic I read that led me to doing a bunch of research on the cannon Witches of the Star Wars universe. Let me know how you like it!! I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


End file.
